


This Time Around It's More Correct

by ialpiriel



Series: Do You Remember (Sole Survivor Mal) [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Androids, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Polyamory, hand holding, negotiating boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curie and Glory don’t get off to a great start. They learn to relax a bit once other shit hits the fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Time Around It's More Correct

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on the [fallout kink meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=17692103#t17692103)

Fixer and Tom are bent over her railway rifle, muttering about steam gauges and irregular ammunition.

G5’s body, and therefore its new occupant, is sitting on the sofa, fiddling with the puzzle cube.

Glory keeps herself in the back room, tuning her minigun.

Doesn't want to get in their way.

Doesn’t want to see G5 like this.

Will keep working until they leave.

Doesn’t hear when Curie comes over, with so many people walking past the doorway to the back room.

“Glory?” Curie asks, voice soft. “May I sit with you?”

“Yeah,” Glory agrees. It’s still _wrong_ to see G5 like this. But Curie’s decent enough. Doesn’t understand passing as human, yet. Doesn't have to, with Fixer and Glory. G5 would have liked her.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Curie sits on the other mattress, soft sounds of denim on cotton, scuff of rubber on stone. Folds her legs prim and neat, puts her hands in her lap. In the main room, Fixer laughs at some joke Tom said too quiet to hear.

They’re both silent for a long minute.

“What is it like, to be a heavy?” Curie finally asks.

“Doesn't Fixer take you out on jobs?” Glory asks.

“Certainly, but I do not to report to anyone. I am not part of the organization.”

“It’s a mess, usually,” Glory replies. “Been worse lately, with new agents and so many safehouses going down. After the Switchboard, we haven't been able to coordinate as well.” She sets her wrench aside, hauls her minigun off her lap.

Curie nods, squints. Glory picks up her knees, rests her elbows on them. Lets her hands hang between her legs.

The watch each other silently.

Something crashes out in the main room. Fixer laughs, Desdemona sighs, PAM clanks out of her room to see what happened. Carrington grunts.

“I know I am not--” Curie starts, as things quiet down.

“Don’t,” Glory replies, stands, walks away. Bums a cigarette off Desdemona as she passes, settles on the stairs up to the church.

Fixer and Curie leave by the back way, two cigarettes later.

***

Mal is in the basement with Amari. She’s taking the whole thing well, for all the troubles she’s been through. Amari told Curie to wait somewhere else, give them a day, or two, they’ll find out how it went.

Irma urges her to go to the Third Rail, or over to the hotel at least, to do something else for a few hours.

She buys a beer from Whitechapel Charlie, retreats to a sofa to watch the singer. Spends the first three songs peeling the label carefully off her bottle, the next song folding it into smaller and smaller rectangles, then unfolding it, and the fifth song folding it into triangles.

Magnolia is sliding into the back half of the fifth song of the set when someone comes clattering down the stairs, startling Curie out of her drowsing. She turns and sees--

Glory.

She looks exhausted, with her shoulders slumped and her eyes half-lidded. She doesn’t see Curie as she comes down the stairs, buys a drink from Charlie. Sits at the table closest to Magnolia, nurses her drink as Magnolia launches into song number six, shimmies her hips, winks at Glory, who grins up at her with wide eyes full of unabashed adoration.

She winks at Curie, too, slow and lazy, curls her lips up into a smile that has Curie shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The same smile Mal gives her, sometimes, the one with the promises to make her scream.

Glory turns to look at her as the song ends, goes stiff and narrows her eyes. Stands and comes over.

“Why are you here?” she asks, cocks her hip and tips her chin up. Threatens to bare her teeth.

“Ma--Fixer is at the Memory Den,” Curie replies. “I was cautioned it would take many hours, and that I should entertain myself.”

“Why’s she over--” and Glory trails off. “What’s she forgetting?”

“Many things,” Curie says. “Why are you here?” She doesn't want to think about Mal. Doesn't want to think about Mal becoming like G5 was. Doesn’t want to think about Mal being a _synth_ even, because that holds too many dangers.

“I came here to, uh,” Glory pauses, glances over her shoulder at Magnolia, who’s slid onto one of the barstools. “Came to watch Magnolia sing.”

“She is a good singer,” Curie agrees.

Glory sits on the couch next to Curie, and they both look at Magnolia, who laughs at something Charlie says.

“Let’s go somewhere else to talk. Don’t want this business aired here.”

Curie follows Glory up the steps, out into the street, back to the hotel.

They sit on opposite ends of the bed, glory with her legs folded under, at the foot of the bed, facing Curie, her legs positioned off to one side, sitting at the head of the bed. Glory digs out a tin of tobacco, a pair of rolling papers. Rolls a pair of cigarettes, offers one to Curie.

“No, no thank you,” Curie replies, gives Glory a tight smile. “They are bad for my lungs.”

“Synths don’t work like humans,” Glory replies. “You should know that.”

“I cannot imagine tobacco smoke does good things even to a synth body,” Curie replies. Watches Glory’s hands as she lights one of the cigarettes, tucks the other one into a cardboard case. Her hands are wide, rough--ugly, even, with knotted joints and scabbed-over knuckles and fingernails chewed ragged-short and bloody. Gentle with her cigarette though. Almost delicate.

“Probably not,” Glory laughs, blows smoke. “But my expiration date is already in the air, I doubt a little smoke is going to kill me before the Institute does. Or the raiders do. Or the ferals, or the greenskins, or Diamond City security. But.” She leans forward. “What’s the deal with Fixer?”

“She’s wiping some of her memories of the Railroad, based on the most likely reason for her existence. Mostly the memories of locations and identities.” Curie twists the hem of her flannel through her fingers. Can't look Glory in the eye, can feel Glory’s eyes on her, searching. Looking for someone who hasn’t been in this body for a long time. “It would be good of you to stay until things are done so that you can reacquaint M--Fixer, with whatever she may have forgotten.”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Glory agrees, looks away. Takes another drag on her cigarette as she studies the splintery floorboards, or perhaps the flowery wallpaper, or the dirty bootprints on the rug.

They're both quiet as Glory’s cigarette burns down.

“I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“No, no!” Curie replies, shakes her hands. “Your emotional response has been reasonable, under the circumstances! G5 was very important to you, and you feel as if I have replaced her.”

“You did,” Glory replies, voice low. Breathes in, once, loud in the quiet of the hotel. Most of Goodneighbor is asleep, now. Asleep or somewhere else. “You did, whether you meant to or not.”

“I did not mean to,” Curie replies, as an agreement.

Glory looks up from the floor.

“Fixer and I, we--” she pauses. “You know about Malden, right?”

Curie nods. Mal had told her about Malden, about what Gory had done, the first time Curie had let Mal kneel in front of her, hook her knees over her shoulders.

“And the other times?” Glory asks.

“Certainly. She speaks highly of you, in...many ways.” And _God_ , she hopes Glory understands that, she’s not certain how else to put it. Glory is not the sort who demands delicate wording, but it seems crass to tell someone they have been mentioned in the bedroom.

Glory laughs, though, takes another drag on her cigarette as she looks Curie up and down.

“G5 and I were...more than friends,” she finally says. “I know you didn't ask, but.” She looks Curie up and down again, then looks away. Smiles, but all it does is pull her mouth tight, doesn't reach her eyes, doesn't show her teeth. “She never remembered what we’d had, after the Institute wiped her--it happened three times. And then she got out. And then Amari wiped her on accident, and now she can’t remember because she doesn’t exist.”

“I am sorry,” Curie replies, soft. Doesn’t look at Glory. Studies the flyspecked windowsill.

“Don’t be,” Glory replies, bares her teeth at the door. “It’s not your fault.”

Glory stubs out her cigarette.

“If you--could I--” Glory stops. Glances at Curie, doesn’t turn her head. “You and Fixer. You’re...together, right?”

“We are romantically and sexually intimate, yes,” Curie agrees. “If you would rather be exclusive, then I will--”

“No! No, shit, no.” Glory fumbles out her second cigarette. “No, I was gonna ask if--d’you remember anything about G5? Are there any leftover memories from her?”

“No,” Curie replies. Watches Glory closely, sees the desperate hope flare in her eyes. Sees it fade.

“Oh.” Glory looks away as she lights her second cigarette. “But you don't mind that Fixer and I have fucked?”

“No?” Curie replies.

Glory shifts, rearranges her legs, glances at Curie. Rolls her cigarette between her fingers before she takes a drag, holds it in her lungs.

Blows smoke as she asks, “Would you, or would she, mind if I were to kiss you?”

Curie pauses a moment, leans forward. Cups her hand around Glory's shoulder, and in a moment Glory leans in, topples Curie back. Rests the heels of her hands in either of Curie’s armpits, and bends down. Breathes the same air for a moment.

Her breath tastes like cigarettes.

Curie arches up to kiss her.

The break apart after a moment, and Glory sits back. Rubs at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, I just--wanted to know. If there was any of G5 left. But you're not her, so I don’t know what I expected.” She rubs at her mouth again, looks at the back of her hand. “It was--nice.”

“Thank you,” Curie replies. She feels the heat rising in her cheeks. “If you have nowhere else to be tonight, perhaps you should stay here.”

“Are you inviting me to sleep with you?” Glory laughs. It’s a big sound, an easy sound, a comfortable sound. Her smile is genuine, happy. Fills her face.

“That was not my intention!” Curie insists. “But it is more cost-efficient if we share a bed here, rather than renting separate rooms.”

“Well when you say it like that,” Glory laughs, and peels off her armored jacket. Kicks off her boots, too, leaves herself in her too-big pants, her tank top, her ratty socks. She stubs out her second cigarette, and rolls the blankets back until she can slide under the ratty wool and cotton. “I’ll keep to my side, you keep to yours, we can sort out blankets as we sleep.”

***

Fixer doesn’t recognize her. Fixer recognizes Curie, though, presses a kiss to her lips. Fixer looks at her, narrows her eyes.

“Do I know you?” she asks.

“Glory.” She holds out her hand, tries to stifle the monster wearing Fixer’s face and a deathclaw’s teeth, keep it from clawing open her chest and escape as a sob. “I work for the Railroad. Curie and I know each other, she suggested I should stay and go over Railroad protocol with you, in case you didn't remember.”

“Well!” and Fixer gets the biggest grin on her face, the Fury-grin, the one that always makes Glory a little nervous and Carrington threaten to hang up his coat, if the agents won’t stop using chems made out of antifreeze and booze and steroids. “Let’s get to it.”

***

Fixer is out with Deacon, and Curie finds herself in HQ again. Mal left her here, or sent her here, rather.

Glory is gone, and Desdemona, Tom, and Carrington are deep in discussion with PAM about potential safehouse locations, and the other agents putter around, engaged in their own business.

Curie spends an hour on the sofa before she putters over to the chemistry station and starts digging through what she can find.

Glory comes back as the clock ticks over to nine o’clock, nods at the agents, makes a beeline for Desdemona. Offers a report back before she goes and collapses on a bed. Curie follows her back, settles onto the mattress next to her.

“Hey sunshine,” Glory murmurs, voice heavy with sleep. Pats the back of her hand against Curie’s thigh, her hand warm but her fingers frigid. “Where’s Fixer?”

“She is out with Deacon,” Curie replies, presses her fingers into Glory’s palm. 

“When’s she supposed to be back?” Glory squeezes Curie’s hand, once, then lets go

“She did not give me a time to expect her to be back. She does not even know I am here.”

“What time do _you_ need to get back?” Glory asks. Cracks one eye open.

“Not until morning, certainly,” Curie replies.

“Well, you’re welcome here,” Glory drowses, closes her eyes. Rolls onto her side to face Curie.

***

Sometimes, when she’s the only one in HQ, she thinks about G5.

Thinks about their first meeting, blasting tunnels. Seeing the same glint in each other's eyes. Meeting that night, talking. Meeting three nights later, the way G5 kissed her in the low yellow glow of the emergency lights. Meeting four nights after that, getting caught by a Gen 2 patrol, naked and knuckle-deep in each other. The patrol had gotten G5, but not her, and G5 hadn’t recognized her when they’d met again. Rinse, repeat, two more times before Patriot got her out.

Think about Fixer the same way, now. They ended up together on the mission this time, her and the Gen 2 out of Diamond City. Thinks about Fixer on her back in Malden, thinks about her on her knees at the hotel, thinks about the one shaky photograph she keeps tucked into her bra where no one else will see it.

But now she’s thinking about Curie _too_ , Curie creeping into her memories of G5. The French accent rolling out of G5’s mouth as G5 runs her hands through Glory’s hair, murmurs praise that still makes Glory’s toes curl two years later. Thinks about Curie tracing her fingers over her body, making soft exclamations while Glory whines and squirms under her. Thinks about Curie kissing her. Thinks about the way Curie smells like soap and warm cloth and the perpetual metal-tang of blood. Thinks about Curie’s well-manicured nails and G5’s haircut that she’s never changed, just cleaned up. Thinks about Curie, naked, giggling. Thinks about Curie’s hands in her hair, directing her.

Thinks a lot of things about Curie.

***

When she wakes up, when the light swirls into shape, she remembers it all.

Remembers Faneuil Hall, remembers Goodneighbor, remembers Malden and H2 and Ticonderoga and the catacombs. Remembers Glory and Curie tackling her to the ground, the sharp _whack_ on the back of her skull, the crunch of her sunglasses, the squeak of her leather coat against itself before the dark swallows her up to the tune of Glory’s yelling.

Remembers it all.

She’s unsteady on her feet, and Amari helps her up the stairs.

Curie and Glory are on one of the couches, fingers twined together. They look up as she and Amari round the corner.

“I remember,” Mal tells them, grins wide. “I remember you both, and I remember it all. And, uh,” She nods down at their hands, as they stand. “I’m glad to see you two getting along.”

They both look down at their joined hands, and tighten their grip on each other before they both grin up at Mal.


End file.
